


Struggling& Soaring

by cloudylane



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudylane/pseuds/cloudylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is flying high the other is struggling, can they find common ground?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struggling& Soaring

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, 
> 
> I just felt there isn't enough Jamisco around, so here is more =)
> 
> Enjoy reading.

It was cold. Freezing actually. Despite the heating being turned all the way up. Even the thick weirdly patterned wooly jumper didn’t help. Maybe he had caught a virus. Not that it mattered he couldn’t train anyway, hell he couldn’t even walk properly. He was pretty much useless. Just a big inconvenience for everyone. Wallowing? Yes he was, but he was alone, there was no reason to put on his brave smile for once. It just hurt. Physically, his whole body felt on fire after every demanding rehab-session but he needed to push himself as hard das he possibly could. if he wanted to have any chance of getting back into the team at least occasionally. Who was he kidding? No matter what he did, with Luka back, he’d be stuck on the bench anyway. He just…He knew it wasn’t his fault, a fracture was bad luck but he couldn’t help feeling like a failure. Pathetic. He should just go to bed, he had done his duty, watched the match, send the congratulatory texts. There was no point in waiting…they were on the plane by now anyway. Even under a mountain of bedding, he still felt cold, probably his stupid heart, missing the warmth of a fireplace, a giant ball of fur trying to curl up in his lap, he missed him above all. He knew that he was being unreasonable, he couldn’t have the things he longed for right now because so much of what they used to share evolved around playing together. It was hardly Isco’s fault that they no longer had that, he just…he had stupidly expected that they would have other things now, more than rushed visits and awkward sex because his foot always got in the way. Maybe he had just read too much into things. Perhaps there had never been more between them than casual sex and the thrill of living out their boyhood dreams together. Well for Isco at least. He had always been too emotionally invested for his own good. He tried to care less, he did, but how was he supposed to do that when Isco smiled at him with that irresistible mixture of cheek and warmth? All his wariness when it came to meeting strangers had been swept away with a hug and a „I bet no one has shown you the Madrid you really need to know“ Isco hadn’t just shown him tiny bars were they sat among men than looked like they’d been there since world war two, nursing that one beer all night, fighting about football and politics, or hidden parks, little pockets of nature were Messi would fruitlessly chase after squirrels, he’d shown him so much of himself in the process. His Kindness so all consuming that the smallest injustices could enrage him, he would suddenly stomp, gesticulating wildly as he ranted. In those Moments all he needed was the trademark hat and he would pass as a young Ché Guevara. 

The way his eyes lit up when he spoke about his family, his home, his descriptions so vivid, he could practically see Antonio and him racing each other on their bicycles, Figo the dog running after them barking wildly. How his naughty streak would come out at the most inappropriate moments, mostly he stuck to glances and touches but he wasn’t above telling him he wanted to taste his dick, just minutes before the match against Liverpool either. He couldn’t even think of  Anfield anymore  without blushing. How could he stop himself from falling for that? Especially when Isco so genuinely liked him how he was, he never cared about his stutter, or that even at twenty-three he still sometimes acted like a nervous schoolboy, really he was just a dorky kid that somehow ended up at the best club in the world. But despite all that, he had to face the possibility that for Isco it was just fun, that he liked him as a friend and the sex was a nice bonus. No matter how much that hurt. It did, dull and paralyzing like the ache in his bones.

He loved him after all…and even though admitting  that made him feel small and vulnerable, he needed him right now. His warmth, his strength. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was his mother telling him that the secret to a happy relationship was realizing your partner wasn’t a mind-reader. Not that he expected Isco to know what he felt but he couldn’t tell him either. He was so happy, soaring from one great performance to the next, receiving praise and respect everywhere and he deserved all that and more. Isco wasn’t just a fantastic player, he had the ability to enjoy the success of others as much as his own, how could he drag him down? It would be selfish. He would just…get himself together again. Maybe once he was his cheerful, supportive self again things between Isco and him would get better. 

                                                 

                                                                                          ******

 

Isco sighed but hoisted himself up and grinned into the camera nonetheless. It had only been a regular league match and not even a particularly high scoreline but the mood was almost euphoric. Probably because for the first time in a while, it had felt like they knew and understood each other. The game against Atletico was only a horrible memory, something to learn from but nothing to fear. Of course he enjoyed the praise, the fans cheering him on, it was important to hold onto those moments, they were always fleeting. One loss and they would be declared arrogant, spoiled loosers again and even if they continued winning an injury was enough and it would be over for him. It didn’t even have to be his fault, or anyones, bad luck was enough. He had to grasp this chance and hold on as tight as he could, this, Madrid, people chanting his name, still seemed like some crazy dream, like he had to remember every tiny detail, so he had something left, when he woke up. He would be lying if he said he enjoyed playing less without him, the rush every time his feet touched the ball was the same, the elation after a win wasn’t diminished. It still hurt, James didn’t deserve this, it just wasn’t fair that he wasn’t here beside him. No matter how fucking great all this felt he missed him, fucking missed him like hell. He just wanted to share all this with him, use him as a pillow on long rides home, feel his touch first and foremost after a goal or an assist, catch his small,  almost invisible but still uplifting smile when things weren’t going right.

James just…with him he wasn’t so scared of waking up anymore, the elation they shared felt different, less like jumping off a cliff, more like the first swim of the year, the sea rough, icy, comfortingly breathtaking. He hadn’t intended for this to happen, he had just wanted to be a good-teammate, a friend maybe. But all it had taken was one of those brilliant beams, such a contrast to his raspy often unsteady voice and he was falling fast. He had still filed it off under silly crush, after all James was stupidly pretty, self-decapitating, humble, sweet, in short pretty damn lovable, until they kissed. It was embarrassingly unmanly but he knew next to nothing about cars, so when he had to pull his fancy Ferrari over with a bust wheel in the middle of the night on the way home from a roadtrip they had taken, his reaction had been helpless cussing. James meanwhile had taken one look at the manual and then proceeded to change the wheel like he did this everyday. Apparently having an ancient VW as your first car practically made you a mechanic. He had meant to thank him with a hug really but that had hardly seemed enough. It hadn’t been romantic, or long, a passing lorry had reminded them that they were in public, just a fleeting connection of lips, James tongue teasing his for a few seconds, enough to leave him wanting more. A part of him had wanted to hold back, it would have been sensible, a relationship with a teammate was tricky put it lightly so many things could go wrong, endangering both of their careers, he just couldn’t. James had so much zest for life, so much love for the game they shared, how could he resist that? Actually he simply didn’t want to.

 

He loved him, still he hesitated telling him because…well this was James first season and he knew how overwhelming Real could be and…and. Okay he was fightend, scared stiff that for James it might just be casual. It might not mean so much to him. Right now wasn’t the right time anyway, James had enough to deal with. He tried so hard to keep up a brave face, fought so intensely to get better, practically exhausted himself for his dream. He should be there to help him along, to reassure him that he would be back, that they would play together again, he just  didn’t know how to break his ‚I am fine‘ wall. Everything he wanted to say felt tired of inadequate, he could share football things with hime because losses felt insignificant and rubbing victories in his face seemed plain mean,  but skirting around the topic made their meetings awkward and tense. He needed to fix this or he would loose James to a broken foot. And that might just be the stupidest reason to break-up ever, especially if you hadn’t even established how serious you were about each other. „Time to go home, kid“ Cristiano ruffled his head none too gently, alerting him to the fact that they had reached Madrid. „Sure…“ He struggled to climb out of his seat, joints stiff after sitting curled up for so long. Surprisingly Cris waited patiently even grabbing his jacket for him. „How is James?“ Oh so this was what it was about. Hero-worship hand turned into a real friendship, so he was surprised that Cristiano felt the need to ask him. „Honestly? I don’t know…he says he’s fine..“ He felt low, like the worst boyfriend by a mile, having to admit that he didn’t know how the man he loved was. Cris looked predictably unimpressed.

„Well, find out and fix it“ he snapped, what did he think he was a fairy-good mother? If he could fix bones he would have healed James a long time ago but no he wasn’t secretly a Harry Potter character. „I can’t force him to talk“ This wasn’t Cristianos business but he still felt the need to defend himself. „I know but you can be around if he’s ready…get you’re head out of the clouds“ He even though Cris had absolutely no right to accuse him off anything he winced internally because he did have a point, he had felt so incapable of truly helping James, he had pretty much avoided him. He was officially an idiot. Well there was no need for it to stay that way. „Thank you“ He ruffled Cristianos head, enjoyed the hilarious mixture of bewilderment and rage for a second before jogging off to his car. He was in a hurry. Thankfully the streets were pretty much empty at this time of night and James had given him the security-code and a set of keys a while ago, so the journey was quick and smooth. He didn’t want time to think, to question wether he was doing the right thing, if James really wanted him here. The house is dark and silent, causing him to sneak through the rooms, he didn't want to wake James unnecessarily, the last thing he wanted was for James to jump out of bed and injure himself further because he thought an intruder was in the house. As tempted as he was to just strip off and climb into bed next to him, he didn’t. There was still a chance that James needed this space, that he wanted a bit of distance between them and he needed him to know that he would respect that. He may have had his head in the clouds lately but he still cared. Carefully he kneeled down next to the bed, taking a moment to just study James sleeping face, he seemed so small under that mountain of bedding, he must have felt cold again, vulnerable too, eyebrows knitted together, the corners of his mouth turned down, like his last thoughts before drifting off had been anything but comforting. „James…It’s me, wake up“ He whispered, gently stroking his cheek.

James flinched a little and his eyes flew open, trying to focus in the dark. „Hey“ His smile is still a little dazed but enough to send a wave of warmth through his entire body. „What are you doing here? You musst be exhausted…“ he mumbled hoisting himself up a little. „I wanted to see you…“ Really where else would he want to be? „Okay…“ His uncertainty hurt because he was responsible for it, he had allowed his fears not his feelings to direct his actions. „I’ll just brush my teeth and stuff..“ Now is not the time to talk about this, they both needed rest and all he wanted to have James snuggle against him so closely he was practically surrounded by him. He ignores his mothers voice counting in his head and makes quick work of his dental hygiene, stripped down to his boxers and headed back into the bedroom. James had scooted over and lifted the covers from him to slip under. He immediately wraps his arms around the trim waist pulling him close, brushing his lips tenderly over his for a second. How could he risk loosing this? „I missed you“ It escaped his mouth before he could stop himself but he didn’t want to really, James deserved to know. James just pressed a soft kiss against his neck and murmured something he couldn’t decipher. He wanted to ask but the Colombian had already closed his eyes, face buried against his chest. He watched him for a moment, enjoying the way his insides seemed to turn into a warm mush whenever he had James so close, like nothing else really mattered anymore. He lived for the exhilaration only football could give him but the happiness he felt around James felt somehow simpler, warm and safe. Not at all like a dream but like the best thing in his real life. 

 

 

                                                                                             ******

 

 

Warm. Finally the cold was gone. Unwilling to open his eyes, though the dim light and a few brave birds told him it was morning, he snuggled closer burying his nose in the crook of his neck. Isco was here, he didn’t want to let him go and face the day, alone. It felt too good to have him so close, even if they hadn’t really talked, but his words last night the fact that he was here instead of going home and getting his well deserved rest was enough. Yes, there were still things he hoped, longed for..he couldn’t help his silly insecurities, the doubts that crept up on him when he wasn’t careful but he wouldn’t allow that to spoil what he had with Isco. „Stop thinking so hard, your face will get stuck like that…and that would be tragic“ Only Isco could make him want to roll his eyes and kiss him first thing in the morning. „Good Morning to you too…and congratulations, you were great“ He needs Isco to know that he can still share his happiness, yes he wishes he could be there but that he can’t isn’t his fault. „James…“ Isco smiles softly but his tone has a softly scolding tinge to it, like it always did when he caught him doubting himself. „I know you’re happy for me but I also know if not been the greatest man around lately and I am sorry because I love you and I care about you, so I really want to be there and help you get better as much as I can, I just…I’m sometimes an Idiot and I need you to tell me how to do it..“ He wasn’t sure Isco was aware of what he’d just told him but he was certain he wouldn’t have said if he didn’t mean it. „I love you too, Idiot“ He interrupted cupping his cheek with one hand, just staring at him. How the fuck did he get so lucky? „I had ten minutes of my speech left“ Isco retorted looking so purposefully wounded he just had to kiss that pout of his face. Of course he’s buried underneath him within seconds, Isco’s Hands slipping under his Shirt. Not that he had any complaints. His stupid Alarm had to ring right this minute, typical. But he had promised himself to spend an extra-hour in the gym everyday before his sessions started, he needed to give his all to get fit, to be useful again. „Sorry…I have to..“ Ironic really he wanted Isco to be around more and had to interrupted the first comfortable morning in weeks. „James…You don’t need to put in extra shifts everyday, you’re working hard enough as it is..“ As tempted as he was to stay in his arms he couldn’t slack off, not after he screwed up already. „I can’t..I need to“ „No you don’t, none of this is your fault, stop blaming yourself, yes you broke you’re foot, that can happen to anyone and you went to the birthday party of a good friend, yes you know Kevin but that doesn’t mean you are responsible for the fact that pictured ended up online..“ Isco glared at him in his best ‚I am a Revolutionary-Leader trapped in the body of a footballer’ manner. It was stupid, he knew all that but it took Isco with all his earnestness to lift the weight. It would probably come back but he had Isco to give his guilt a good kick. „Thank you“ There was a lot more he should say but he couldn’t find the right words. „Anytime and now if you let  me go I’ll make us coffee and we’ll stay in bed for another hour“ He allows Isco to climb out of bet, reluctantly, but coffee sounds too tempting. Once they are snuggled together again, each nursing a steaming mug, he tells Isco how scared he’s been feeling, it’s hard but Isco deserves this. Though he keeps his fears about him leaving to himself, he doesn’t want Isco to think he doesn’t trust him, because he does. He just has a hard time believing that anyone finds him likable, desirable enough to be with. But Isco was here and he loved him so maybe its time to slowly put those doubts to rest too.


End file.
